The Silver Tombstone

Chapter Three

Shortly after eleven o’clock that morning Johnny Fletcher and Sam Cragg alighted from a bus on Hollywood Boulevard. Johnny looked up and down the street.

“If you ask me it looks just like Topeka, Kansas. Well — what does your astral guide tell you?”

“I’m afraid to look in the book. Besides — I’m hungry. Why don’t we go to work?”

“Where?”

“You never bothered about that before.” Sam glanced uneasily at his friend. “You’re not losing your grip, are you?”

“Me?” Johnny laughed. “There isn’t a cop in sight, is there?”

“I don’t see any. But you can’t go to work right here on the corner...”

“You challenged me, Sam.” Johnny shook his head in mock injury. “Get ready!”

Sam peeled off his coat and dropped it to the sidewalk. He removed the rope from about the carton.

“Okay!”

Johnny stepped out to the edge of the sidewalk, waved his arms and began talking. He had an astonishing voice for so lean a man. It boomed across the street, was hurled back by the buildings on the other side and arrested the attention of everyone within the block.

“Gentlemen!” he thundered. “And ladies, too. Step closer, please. We’re going to show you one of the most amazing exhibitions of strength it has ever been your privilege to witness. My friend here, Young Samson, is known throughout this country and Europe as the perfect specimen of physical manhood.”

He pointed at Sam who was stripping off his shirt. He had a web belt in one hand. “Look at his rippling muscles, his wonderful physique. Have you ever seen the likes, anywhere — at any time...?”

He lowered his voice to a confidential bellow. “Young Samson is undoubtedly the strongest man that has ever appeared in this town — in the great state of California. He has consented to exhibit himself because I personally asked him to do so, for a reason you’ll learn in a moment... What, gentlemen? Some of you are skeptical? You don’t think he’s as strong as I say? Just a minute, before we go any further. We’ll prove it. Samson!”

Johnny took the web belt from Sam’s hand, put it about Sam’s chest and buckled it. Then he turned back to his audience, now numbering some hundred odd, about half men and the rest women and children.

“Gentlemen, particularly those of you who have seen strong men — you know that one of these belts is strong enough to lift a mule. Have any of you ever seen a man break one? No, of course you haven’t. Well... Samson!”

Sam Cragg, alias Young Samson, let the air out of his lungs. Then he clenched his fists and slowly drew a deep breath. His chest expanded... until the strong belt cut into his skin and flesh...

Then there was a loud “pop” and the belt flew away from Sam Cragg. Johnny scooped it up and held it aloft. “Look closely, gentlemen! Note that it didn’t break at the buckle — but in the exact center. And notice, too, that it wasn’t cut or weakened in any manner... Look!”

Johnny stooped and brought out a length of chain from the carton. He fumbled it, dropping it to the pavement, where it made a resounding clank. He picked it up again.

“Gentlemen!” he roared. “I see your expression of astonishment. I can read your minds. You’re thinking — surely he isn’t going to break that chain. Good heavens, no! A horse couldn’t break it...”

He ran the chain swiftly about Sam’s chest, brought it together in front and linked it securely. Then he stepped away.

“I’m joking, of course,” he informed the crowd. “No human being could break such a chain. But...” He dropped his voice suddenly to a hush that penetrated to the edge of the large audience. Then he took a deep breath and roared. “But suppose he did break that chain! What an amazing, tremendous feat of strength that would be. What a miracle! What?... You people want to see a miracle performed? You want to see Young Samson break the chain? You think he might, just barely might be able to do it?”

He shook his head sadly, looked at Sam Cragg and leaned his head toward his friend. Sam mumbled something. An expression of amazement leaped into Johnny’s eyes.

“He says he can do it!” he cried out. “He’s going to try. And I’m going to let him. Why? Because I know Young Samson better than any living human. I know that he is the strongest man in the entire country! How do I know that? Why...? Because I made him that!”

He paused dramatically for effect, then let his voice roll out — fuller and louder than before. “You think I’m crazy? Well, how about it, Samson? Tell them — did I make you as strong as you are? Weren’t you a mere weakling when you first came to me? Didn’t you weigh a hundred and thirty pounds? Go ahead... tell them!”

Sam Cragg bobbed his head. “Yah!”

Johnny threw up his hands. “You see, he admits it. He gives me the sole credit for his amazing strength. How did I do it? Ah, my friends, that is the secret. I’m going to tell you only that several years ago, I, too, was a weakling. I was consumptive — weighed ninety-five pounds. The doctors gave me three months to live. I was desperate. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to be well and strong, like other men. I wanted the respect of my fellow men — women. For who loves a weakling?... Well, look at me now. I’m not exactly a weakling although not nearly the specimen that Sa — Young Samson is. I don’t want to be. But I do want to impart my knowledge to others — the things I discovered back there in those black days. The secret of life, you might call it. This secret, my friends, I cannot tell you in public — except that it was exercise. Oh — don’t wince, my friends. It’s not as bad as all that. For these exercises are simple — so simple that anyone can perform them without strain. And so marvelous that in a week you will be a new man... in two weeks you will be able to break belts like my friend did a moment ago... In a month... LOOK!”

Sam Cragg suddenly went into a crouch. Clenching his fists he came up slowly, his chest expanding, the chain cutting into his chest...

The chain broke. It flew away from Sam Cragg, and almost struck a man six feet away.

A murmur of awe ran through the audience. It was punctuated by Johnny Fletcher’s scream. “He did it! He broke the chain that no human being could break — except Young Samson!” He stooped, whipped open the carton and took out a book.

“Here it is, folks! The book that contains the secrets of health, vitality, strength... the same simple rules and exercises that made Young Samson the strongest man in this country — in the whole world. They’re all in here, simplified, condensed, abbreviated. I’m going to let you have these books now — not for twenty-five dollars each, not even twenty and God knows that would be little enough to pay for such secrets. No, friends, it’s my duty to make these books available to everyone and that’s why I’m going to practically give them away, asking just enough to pay for the printing and binding — a measly, paltry, insignificant two dollars and ninety-five cents...”

“How much?” asked a voice.

Joe Cotter, the strong man from San Bernardino, pushed through the crowd. Johnny took one look at him and faltered. “T-two, n-ninety... five...”

“Cheap,” said Joe Cotter. He stopped and picked up the chain with the broken link. With a quick movement he raised his knee and placing the chain under the knee gave a mighty jerk. The chain broke in two!

For a moment there was a dead silence. Then someone laughed. The crowd took it up and in a moment Sam and Johnny were in the midst of a jeering, roaring crowd. At the same time Sam saw a blue uniform come running across the street. He grabbed up his coat and shirt, the carton of books and ducked into the closest store. Johnny followed, crowding a thin anemic-looking man.

The man closed the door behind Johnny. “The cop won’t come in here,” he assured Johnny.

Johnny nodded. “Thanks, old man.” He looked around and saw that they were in a luggage store. Sam began putting on his shirt. “I’ll murder that Joe Cotter,” he muttered.

“Next time we see him, I’ll let you murder him,” Johnny replied.

The little man was watching Sam closely. “You certainly got a good build, mister.” He turned to Johnny. “I saw your act. I, uh, wonder, if you’d mind selling me one of your books?”

Johnny blinked. “Are you kidding?”

“Not at all. Your friend’s pretty strong. ’Course that other guy was strong, too, but I imagine he’s naturally that way. Young Samson used to be like, I, ha, am now.”

Johnny reached out and clapped the little man on the shoulder.

“Friend, this is your lucky day!”

The little man backed away suddenly. “Course, you understand I’m a merchant myself. I expect you to sell me the book, wholesale... say about forty per cent off.”

Johnny grinned hugely. “Mister, I’ll do better than that. I’ll swap.” He looked around the store. “What I need is a nice, expensive-looking suitcase — something like that genuine imitation leather one right there.”

“Oh, but that bag’s eight ninety-five...”

“Retail,” said Johnny.

Five minutes later the deal was concluded — an even swap of two volumes of Every Man A Samson for the suitcase. Johnny emptied the remaining books into the suitcase and handed it to Sam.

When they reached the street, Sam Cragg exploded. “What was the good of that? The suitcase doesn’t make us any better off. The box was good enough to carry the books...”

“Ah, but could you check into a hotel with just a paper carton?”

Sam was startled. “You mean you’re going to clip a hotel again?”

“I don’t like that word ‘clip,’ Sam. I ask you — can a man walk the street all night and be expected to go out and earn a living the next day? Is it my fault that hotels are owned by soulless corporations who don’t think an honest man has the right to sleep in a bed? Just because they have a silly rule about making a man pay in advance if he hasn’t got luggage is no reason why I should be deprived of my rights as a citizen.”

Sam groaned and pointed ahead. “Is that the hotel we’re going to — the Fremont?”

“It looks like a nice place.”

“They always are. We couldn’t clip a nice, small hotel. No, we’ve got to pick the biggest and most expensive ones.”

“Here’s the proposition,” Johnny chuckled. “We can’t both check in with a single piece of luggage, so one of us will have to rent the room and the other come for a visit. I’ll toss you for it.”

“No-no,” Sam said hastily. “You get the room.”

Johnny nodded and taking the suitcase went ahead of Sam. At the last moment his nerve failed him a little and he went around the corner to the side entrance in order to duck the doorman. A bellboy grabbed him just inside the lobby, however.

Johnny surrendered the suitcase and bore down upon the desk.

“What’ve you got in a nice room and bath?” he asked the clerk.

“I can give you something for four, five or six.” The clerk hesitated a moment. “Or a lovely sitting room and bedroom for only ten dollars.”

“Has the bedroom got a bed big enough for a man to stretch out in?”

“Just the biggest bed in California, that’s all.”

“Good! I’ll take it.”

The clerk tapped a bell. “Front!”

The bellboy who had grabbed Johnny’s suitcase sprang forward. The clerk handed him a key. “Show Mr. Fletcher to Suite 1032.”

“1032,” Johnny said, loudly. “Is that in front?”

“Oh yes — and very quiet.”

Johnny followed the bellboy toward the elevators, winking at Sam Cragg, sitting in a leather chair.

The suite was a very nice one, containing a pull-down bed in the sitting room, in addition to the double bed in the bedroom. The bellboy fussed around the bathroom and opened and closed windows. Finally, when he could stall no longer he stepped up to Johnny and looked him straight in the eye. “Will that be all... sir?”

Johnny reached into a pocket. “Have you got change for a twenty?”

“Of course,” said the bellboy. “I always carry change for a twenty.”

“Oh,” said Johnny. “Then a quarter wouldn’t mean very much to you.”

“It wouldn’t — but I’ll take it.”

Johnny shook his head. “My boy, you’re a cynic. You know all the answers—”

“And most of the routines. You’re figuring on talking me out of the tip. Okay. But when you want some service around here don’t ask for Bellboy Number Three. Now, go and squawk to the manager... and I’ll tell him you’ve got a two-buck suitcase loaded with bricks. I’d tell him anyway, only I’m sore at him right now.”

“Tsk, tsk,” said Johnny. “And to think that a boy like you probably had a mother.”

“I had a wife, too. I pay her thirty bucks a week alimony.” The boy made a moist raucous sound with his mouth and departed. A moment later Sam Cragg came in. He glanced about the suite.

“Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”

“Why not?”

Knuckles massaged the door. Johnny opened it and looked at a huge, muscle-bound man of about forty.

“I’m the house officer,” the man said. “I just wanted to see if everything was okay.” His eyes focused on the single suitcase.

“Everything’s fine,” Johnny said. “Only I’ve been wondering where a man could place a bet on a horse in this town. A friend of mine’s got an awfully good one running today at Belmont...”

“What’s his name?”

“The horse or my friend?”

“The horse.”

“Mr. Copperman.”

“Mr. Copperman?” The house detective frowned. “What price is he quoted at?”

“Twelve to one. My pal’s been holding him back. He’ll win in a walk.”

“Is that a fact? Well, they’re kinda tough in this town these days, but I’ll tell you what... I mean, if you really want to put down a bet, why, I might...”

Johnny winked. “I’m going to run over to the bank. Suppose I look you up in about a half hour?”

“Fine, Mr., uh...?”

“Fletcher. And you?”

“Tim O’Hanlon.”

Johnny nodded and closed the door gently on the detective. He turned to Sam, a glint in his eye. “That damn bellboy! I see where I’m going to have to stay sharp around here.”

“I hope you stay sharp long enough to unload those books and get us a stake,” Sam Cragg said.

“A steak?” Johnny exclaimed. “With French fried potatoes? Why not?” He started quickly across the room, in the direction of the telephone. As he passed the table his leg brushed against the leg. A rough splinter caught at the cloth; there was a “r-rip” and Johnny cried out in consternation.

“Goddamit, no!”

But there was a seven-inch rip in his trousers, from thigh to knee. Johnny dropped into a chair and stared at the rip like a man in great agony.

Sam Cragg whistled. “Gosh, what a rip.”

“And us with a dollar forty-five between us!” Johnny wailed.

“Maybe we can borrow a needle and thread from the housekeeper,” Sam suggested.

“The stitching will show.” Johnny shook his head in despair. “How can I keep up a front with a pair of pants like this? I’ve got to get a new suit.”

Sam quailed suddenly as if someone had struck him an invisible blow. “Johnny, you’re not going to...”

Johnny got up heavily. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re strangers here; if this were New York I might be able to figure out something. But here in Los...” He stopped, his eyes fixed on something that he saw through the window.

Sam moved up quickly beside Johnny. He looked out of the window, but for a moment could not determine what Johnny was staring at so fixedly. Then he saw and exclaimed.

“No, Johnny, no...”

“California Credit Clothiers,” Johnny read. “ ‘Buy Clothes the Modern Way. E-Z Terms.’ ”

“It won’t work,” Sam said. “You’ve got to have a down payment.”

“Who says so?”

Johnny strode quickly to the bureau across the room and jerked open the top drawer. He exclaimed in satisfaction as he found a cushion containing several pins. Stooping, he pinned together the rip in his trousers, as best he could. It covered the bare flesh of his leg, but that was about all.

“Now, let me see,” he mused aloud. “I’ll only have one chance, so it’s got to be done right. I’ll need your help...”

“I couldn’t carry it off,” Sam protested. “They’d know I was gypping them...”

“Who said anything about gypping?” Johnny demanded innocently. “They’re offering to sell on credit and that’s all I want. I’ll pay them for their suit... when I get some money.”

“An outfit like that knows the routines...”

“So do I. And some maybe that they haven’t heard. It’s all in the way it’s done. But I think you’re right, you’d give the show away. Better keep your mouth shut. But back up my play.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Sam, “but if they hear my knees knocking, I can’t help it.”

They left the suite and rode down to the lobby. There Johnny popped into the phone booth a moment. When he stepped out Sam looked at him, puzzled.

“What’d you do that for?”

“Quiet,” admonished Johnny. “I’m trying to remember...”

Out on the street, he muttered half aloud... “Hillcrest 1251, Hillcrest 1251...”

He turned east on Hollywood Boulevard. Sam looked at him in surprise then shrugged.